


Like a Demon in a Flower Shop

by The_Wonderful_Jinx



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Crack, Demonic Possession, F/M, Fluff, Humor, beta read, demonbro! is a good bro and helps Richard get a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Wonderful_Jinx/pseuds/The_Wonderful_Jinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strand has always been good with puzzles; even with a demon muddling his thought process. But in their forty years of partnership, Strand has never been able to find a reason behind the demon’s obsession for flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Demon in a Flower Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt given by E_Salvatore: "You buy a weird amount of flowers and I’m concerned as to why"

If perseverance is an Olympic sport, Richard Strand thinks he has a shot at winning gold. He’s had this demon rattling in his head for _forty_ years. He’s not one for miracles -especially those doled out by a god willing to let him suffer- but there isn’t another word that can describe the strength he has to muster every day to keep the demon in check.

They share the head-space like roommates in apartments, with all the arguments and claim disputes that it promises. The demon says it’s ‘sharing’. Richard prefers ‘hostile takeover’. Though the demon is always quick to remind him that if was a _true_ hostile takeover, Richard wouldn’t even be able to argue in the first place. Hell is other people, some would say. To which Strand would have to disagree. Hell is in fact being haunted by an ancient, demonic juvenile delinquent that has access to all of his secrets and thinks Monday morning margaritas are a good idea.

It’s hard trying to find a light at the end of the tunnel, but Richard has the cold comfort of being privy to some of the demon’s own secrets and thoughts as well.

The demon is a puzzle; a mess of contradictions and defier of stereotypes set down by churches and religions.  He’s learned that his demon -though hot-tempered and the living embodiment of the internet joke “fight me”- is fond of animals. Cats are the demon’s favorite. Something about their fur, claws, and their sharp features appeals to him. He always pesters Strand to set bowls of water and kibble out on the porch for the neighborhood strays. He also knows that his demon is a picky eater; he turns his nose up (and churns his stomach) when offered anything over twenty bucks, but he can clear out an entire gas station of its snack aisle when the mood strikes him and knows better than to touch the sushi. And, to Richard’s surprise, the demon likes stimuli and activity. Either hours spent at the gym or brain teasing riddles, it’s one of the few things they can agree on: laziness is -for a lack of a better word- a sin. An occupied demon is one that doesn’t throw their tenuous truce into the inferno.

(Though Strand is certain that the demon would readily give into his more hedonistic tendencies if he let his guard down for even a second.)

Strand has always been good with puzzles; even with a demon muddling his thought process. But in their forty years of partnership, Strand has never been able to find a reason behind the demon’s obsession for flowers.

It started off small, like most bad habits, beginning with helping his mom in the garden as a child and stealing flowers from their neighbor in his teenage years. It only became a real issue when Alex Reagan opened her flower shop just a few streets away from his house a few months ago.

Every Friday, when he’s done with work, rain or shine, the demon badgers him to make the journey to the Reagan Flower Shop. And every Friday, the demon makes him buy anything from elaborate arrangements to a dozen random blossoms wrapped up in foil to take home. He has no idea how much money he’s sunk into his demon’s amusements, but a happy demon means some semblance of peace in his life, even if it means having his living room flooded with pollen.

Today is a clear, bright summer day. Warm enough to make the demon docile like a lap dog, but not too hot that makes the demon cranky and throw tantrums. It only makes Strand more confidants in his abilities to pry in demonic affairs.

 _So why all the flowers?_ , he asks as the demon ponders over the display of new arrivals, roses of every color, some natural and some artificial. Their scent permeates through the small shop, drowning out the other flowers and makes his head spin in their strength.

 _Why not?_ , the demon replies, drawing out the last syllable, a symptom of the weather and its drowsing effects. The demon nudges to move his hands to pick out a bouquet, but Strand holds fast.

From the corner of his eye, he can see the shop’s owner wave to him, smiling with practiced ease.

He nods and turns his attention back to the flowers. The demon perks up from his metaphoric nap.

 _Wave and say hi, you jackass!_ , the demon shrieks into his ear, making him wince in pain. Alex sees this and tilts her head in confusion.

“Are you alright there?” she calls out while processing another customer’s order.

“I’m fine,” Strand says through gritted teeth. One hand is rubbing his temple, staving off an oncoming headache. The other hand is clenched tightly, nails seconds from breaking skin, trying to control and silence his demon with pain. There are more effective methods, like slamming his hand into the wall or a door. Doing so in public is greatly frowned upon, however, a fact the demon is well aware of.

 _Say hi, say hi, say hi!_ , the demon keens.

 _Stop a being a brat!_ , he hisses back. But like a child, being told ‘no’ doesn’t compute with the demon.

 _SAY HI!_ , the demon screeches. Mental static and the sharp echo of the demon’s whiny voice sucker punches the deepest part of Richard’s brain, causing shock waves that not even the strongest of painkillers can soothe.

 _Get a hold of yourself!_ , he fires back, but the demon continues his barrage of wailing like Strand took his favorite toy.

_If you don’t shut up I’m not going to buy your damn flowers!_

The demon stops mid-rant.

 _Please say hi to her?_ , the demon says, forgoing the opportunity to exaggerate his pronunciation.

Strand sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

_If you behave yourself, then I will._

The silence is so deafening that Strand can hear himself think. He takes a few minutes to get used to it before bringing himself back to the task at hand.

“Need any help?”

Richard jumps and sees that Alex is standing right next to him. The split-second moment of panic and shock- a rare slip of his control- is just long enough for the demon to jump in and claw his way to the surface.

The hostile takeover Strand has feared has come alive.

His body staggers, the demon trying to find his balance, but the demon quickly rights his body upwards, brushing off his shirt with an unnecessary air of dramatics.

All he can do now is plead.

_You cheating bastard! Let me back in this instant!_

_All's fair, Dick_ , the demon sings back, turning so he faces Alex, _Trust me on this. Sit back and enjoy the ride._

Though not in control, he can still feel. And oh the things he feels. Rage and betrayal mostly, a pulsing heat that floods his veins and threatens to burn them alive. His heart feels like it’s been trampled by a stampede. But the heat passes and dies out as quickly as it came. And new sensations -those provided by the demon- immediately flood his human senses.

The scent of the flowers were dizzying before, but now their stench feels like a heavy liquid has settled in his lungs, his stomach, replacing his blood and  blocking oxygen to his vital organs. The remnants of perfume and cologne left behind by previous customers wrap their thin, invisible fingers around his throat. And the heat -god, the heat- crawls underneath his skin, like the fire ants he would dream of as a child.

Richard tries to scream. Too much. Too _fucking_ much. But the demon swallows it back down.

 _Be a good boy and pay attention, then you’ll know,_ the demon coos.

The demon smiles. With no mirrors around, Richard only hopes it doesn’t scare off the shop owner. It doesn’t, she smiles in return and wrings her hands behind her back.

“Are you alright?” she says, her voice clear and precise like bells summoning the faithful. “You’ve been standing for awhile.”

The demon chuckles, an uneasy experiment with his new found freedom.

“You keep bringing in new things; it’s hard to keep up.”

It’s Alex’s turn to laugh, the sound sends shivers down his spine like he’s had ice water dumped on his head. It only encourages the demon more.

“Some days I just want to clear the store out. Leave nothing, not even a stray petal, behind for the rest,” the demon continues, pitching his voice lower like he’s sharing an intimate secret. And for all Strand knows, the demon could be doing just that..

Alex pats his shoulder, her body shaking, trying to rein her laughter in. Her touch sends static shockwaves across the surface of his skin.

“Sorry, there is a limit on how much each customer buys,” she smiles, a much more bashful one, as though she’s afraid he’ll berate her for ruining his dreams.

He places his hand on her shoulder and gives it a firm, reassuring squeeze. Too intimate, Strand screams, but the demon doesn’t care, and going by the bright pink pooling in her cheeks, neither does Alex.

“Well, can’t blame me for trying right?”

“Right!”

Richard watches the two talk, now realizing how the term ‘third-wheel’ came to be. Words come easy for the demon, charm exudes from every pore. He has a joke and smile always on hand, and Alex eats right out of his palm, unaware of the switch that has occurred.  And anytime her attention seems to be wavering, the demon has a line ready to pull her back in. He charms, she smiles, rinse and repeat.

A part of Richard, a part he only acknowledges when he’s alone in the dark, worms its way into his gut. He calls that worm jealousy, and he hopes the floral scent in his stomach drowns it without mercy.

“So, recommend anything?’ the demon says.

Alex stops her long, but very interesting, speech about the benefits of a garden containing both annuals and perennials. A glint in her eyes emerges and her smile widens as she tugs on his sleeve and guides him to the display in the middle of the room.

Roses, just like the ones on the shelf, but these ones have a stronger, more powerful smell. She claims she can smell the gardens that have these bushes from a mile away, assuming there is a firm breeze in the air. Richard’s sure she’s putting on a show, but for once, it’s the demon that’s hooked on her every word, urging her to go on. Well, hooked on her perfume, to be exact, though the roses put up a decent fight. Unlike the floral scents surrounding them, her perfume is fruity, possessing strong, confidant notes of oranges and apples, with hints of spice. It’s crisp, like cider, the non-alcoholic kind. It reminds him of the colorful drinks the demon likes to have on the weekends, and it’s only then he gets an inkling of why the demon forces him to come here.

Alex makes her suggestions and the demon buys all of them, making sure to leave some for the others and to make her happy. The demon watches her type in his order like a hawk.

“If you have the time, would you like to go out for coffee?’ the demon says.

If he had possession of his body, Richard would’ve marched them right of the store, back home, pack their bags, and catch the next bus out of town. But instead he’s forced to watch the slow motion train wreck before his eyes. If only he could’ve stopped this-

Alex frowns.

“It’s a little hot for coffee, don’t you think?”

The demon’s confidence cracks, and Richard’s left feeling his already frayed nerves about to rip at the seams.

But her frown quickly turns into a nervous smile.

“But I would love some ice cream later tonight.”

Numbers are exchanged, a time is set. The demon leaves with a bouquet of roses in his arms and an ear-worm song stuck in head. Richard leaves in stunned silence. The ride back home is silent between them, only broken when they finally make it back home and the demon relents his control, sinking into the recesses of his head.

The scents and sounds fade with the demon’s lack of control. And when he finally gets his own senses back, everything is normal. Normal, measured, _dull_ . It’s like coming down from a sugar rush, and Strand contemplates letting the demon take over once more just to feel _everything_ again. He’s heard talk about feeling divine or godly; he never knew he could experience it with a demon at the helm.

He wants to kick and scream, berate the demon for his recklessness, rail him for every dirty sin he’s committed. But he can’t find the strength to do so. He pulls out the business card from his pocket. Her number is written on the back in green ink, messy but legible.

“Is that why you stick around, to experience everything?”

_Oh I feel plenty when I’m a backseat driver, but it’s definitely more fun when when I can have control. What you experienced is the water downed version. The real thing would kill you. Or you get addicted. Both are really bad for you and me._

“So that’s why you want flowers,” Richard says, smug and satisfied in figuring out another secret.

 _I want more than flowers, Richard_ , the demon replies sharply, _but they do in a pinch._

“You know you can’t take over forever. I can’t and I won’t let you.”

 _That’s why I looked for someone we could share_ , the demon replies, _Someone who can like your dusty libraries and my Monday morning margaritas._

“She’s pleasant, you do have some taste,” Strand says as he rearranges the roses. Do people still give flowers on first dates? It’s feels like forever. He decides not to, thinking it would be tacky to give her the flowers he bought from her.

 _She’s been making heart-eyes in our direction ever since we started going there. You were just too occupied to notice,_ the demon snaps.

Richard pauses, heat creeps into his face, embarrassed that he underestimated his demon’s skills. Again.

“Oh...”

The demon rolls his eyes and laughs.

_‘Oh’ is right, buddy. You’re welcome by the way. Don’t fuck it up._

Both demon and human collapse onto the couch and stretch their shared limbs, surrounded by roses and balmy air. They fall asleep while debating the best ice cream flavors.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! Specials thanks to breathedeep222 for being my beta reader!


End file.
